Thanks so much to those people who reviewed! BTW I have hardly ever written stories from a guys POV so I hope this is okay... :P

Easton Cahors

I slowly chew my breakfast consisting of, an egg, a small bread roll with a generous amount of butter spread on top and half a glass of orange juice. For reaping day, it's not much, but I try to feel grateful since in the less fortunate districts almost no one can get this kind of stuff.

What is reaping day, you might ask? It's when the Capitol randomly picks out a female and male tribute for a stupid battle 'till the death. The purpose? For Panem's, mostly the Capitol's, amusement. I NEVER plan to volunteer for the Games, it's pretty important in district two to train for the games, but nowhere as near as important as district one makes it out to be. A boy I knew once, which I can't really call my friend, Jason Harkness, trained since he was 9 for last year's Hunger Games. He made it to the final 3 but district ones seductive, knife thrower Shimmer killed him.

"Easton!" my mum calls in her chirpy voice, snapping me out of my thoughts. She is wearing a stained white lab coat over a white shirt and black slacks. Mum's favourite, most expensive and now that I think about it, her only crimson lizard skin purse, is hanging down from her shoulder. It is a little bit ajar revealing her slightly yellowed rubber gloves, which, were just stuffed into it.

"Im gonna leave now for work," she says. Then mum adds "Im going to try to get some work in before the Reaping." She leans down and gives me a quick peck on the cheek. I brush her off, her smile becomes tight. "See you then"

"Bye" I reply. Mum adjusts her coat and bag then walks out, closing the door behind her. My mother is so materialistic. Whenever there is a dress, bag, makeup or any girly kind of thing my mum fancies she buys it, and not only that, after she buys it she watches you like a hawk, ensuring that you don't come within a 10 meter radius of it. After all those years with my mum hardly being at home, I don't care for her much anymore. My mum (and dad) is very well known in the field of medicine in our district. Their medicines are not herbal but they're not as good as the Capitol types of medicines. My father is quite quiet, like me. Unlike me he, when angry, is not collected and calm. I haven't seen my dad the whole day; he probably went to work before six this morning.

The only person in my life who ever made it worth living was Tralle. She was a peacekeeper, a really nice one. We talked about everything and anything together; she taught me how to use a whip. Tralle covered everything from tripping to killing. That's before she got promoted to district one, the favourites of the Capitol. Regardless that she was 8 years older than me, we were very good friends, she was more than a friend to me, Tralle was my companion...

I comb my short, dark wavy hair down to just above one eye, which is weird for me since I hardly EVER comb my hair. I walk to my bathroom and splash water on my face. After I dry it, I make sure my green eyes and long eyelashes aren't moist making it look as if I have been crying or something. My button up shirt is lime green; I undo the top two buttons and roll the ends up to my elbows. I pull on a pair of khakis and then get on some brown dress shoes.

I walk along the concrete pathway towards the Justice building. I try to think about a range of topics, school, family and even clothes but my mind keeps leading back to the reaping. I sigh, running a hand through my, now curly, brown hair. I give into my brains urges, thinking about every possible outcome today could bring.

As I enter the 17's section in the town square, I realize, it's actually quite reassuring to think that Easton Cahors is written in fancy script on only one slip of paper, out of thousands. But the chances are NEVER in your favour when it comes to the Games. It's a lesson many have learnt the hard way.

The Reaping finally begins when the mayor welcomes us to the district 2 reapings for the 86th Hunger Games. Then Calipee, our bouncy escort for the HG's comes to the mic.

"Girls to begin" she squeaks. "Cecilia Brooks!" A doll -faced girl with fair skin and a shower of golden ringlets down her back takes stiff little steps to the stage.

"N-no, I won't let you" exclaims a girl with shoulder length frizzy dark red hair, wearing a ruffled cream and pink blouse and a pink puffy skirt with a cream lace fridge. She wraps her arms around the tribute. They pull her off Cecilia and take her to the stage. She tries to choke out something; I think it was "I didn't volunteer." Calipee takes down her name, Essa Murbast.

"Now for the boys" says Calipee looking a bit ticked off but still managing to smile. She reaches inside the glass ball and pulls out a slip of paper and reads out "Easton Cahors"

I look around the boys' section to find the tribute, hang on....that's me! I stroll to the stage as if it was any other day and stand on the stage. A few girls eye me and at that moment I wish I didn't wear such tight, revealing pants. Calipee smiles charmingly at me and then we are taken straight to the train station where all the camera's and crowd are trying to get a glimpse of Essa and me. I see district two pass behind me and I then for the first time in my life I feel a new emotion- fear...

I hope this lives up to expectations!